


morningstar oh shine, onto this hideous visage of mine

by dykeula



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Community: ohsam, Dreams and Nightmares, Enochian-Speaking Sam Winchester, Gen, Gore, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, It's The Cage What'd ya expect, Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Season/Series 07, Stockholm Syndrome, loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-04 10:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeula/pseuds/dykeula
Summary: "So he was in Iowa with a freed victim and a dead djinn. Sam might've gotten captured but Dean finished the job in record time.Which would normally, under any other circumstances, be the end of the story. Roll credits. Him and Sammy would be celebrating long by now, Dean would be shamelessly flirting with the waitress and Sammy would act mildly annoyed but still fond. Normally. Emphasis on the ‘normal’.Because get this: Sam hadn’t woken up yet."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is translated from Rammstein's "Morgenstern" (Please listen to that i'm begging you).  
Also this is set loosely in Season 7, during Sam's psychotic break.  
SPN canon post S5 is a dough I can model to my own desire if I so wish.

They’d been hunting a djinn somewhere in Iowa. Djinns were always nasty fuckers, especially older ones, high and mighty from other people’s life force. Dean didn’t like dealing with djinns, not since - since he’d almost completely lost himself in one of its hallucinations. He didn’t like to think about it much these days. More important stuff to deal with.

Anyway, the djinn. It’d been nesting in an abandoned warehouse (very cliché) just outside of town along with its by now third victim. And unexpected fourth.

Sam. The djinn had taken Sammy.

It had been meant to be a trap, simple, Sam shaking his ass in front of a monster while Dean stood guard ready to strike. Except that something went wrong, he didn’t know what, things always went wrong these days, first Cas and now - this.

Somehow all the people Dean loved ended up getting hurt around him. There was a pattern there, probably one that psychologists all over the country were just dying to figure out.

Dean had other things to worry about - getting Sammy back had been priority number one.

_ Never should’ve taken him with you in the first place, son. _

Somehow, his most self hating thoughts always carried with them the voice of his dad. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he’d failed him, too.

_ What kind of big brother takes his psychotic brother on a hunt?! Involving monsters dealing with hallucinations?! _

Truth was, he’d - not forgotten but ignored it. Willfully ignored it, even when Sam was angsty and jittery riding shotgun, muttering to himself. Because if Sam wasn’t tripping major balls then there was no reason to stop and reevaluate whatever the hell they’d thought they could about it.

Stupid.

Wasn’t entirely his own fault though because Sam _ did _ say he’d been better. And he acted like it, too, except for the occasional flinch whenever Dean moved too close or touched him without asking. Yeah, he had to _ ask _to touch his own damn baby brother these days.

What the hell was his life turning into.

\--

They’d been hunting a djinn in Iowa. Which was fine, because ancient or not, a monster was no match for a Dean Winchester who was trying to get to his brother. No matter what.

He’d put six bullets in the creature’s back and then another one right between his eyes, just for good measure. Salt ‘n burn, the whole deal. Thing hadn’t even had the chance to scratch him up a little, because he went in that fast and that hot headed. Worked out in the end, didn’t it.

The girl he’d been holding, some Brenda or Brandy or something, had woken up right away, wheezing and thrashing. She’d seemed relatively fine, hadn’t really been in the thing’s clutches long enough to inflict real damage, so Dean’d let her go. Bitch didn’t even say “thank you”.

So he was in Iowa with a freed victim and a dead djinn. Which would normally, under any other circumstances, be the end of the story. Roll credits. Him and Sammy would be celebrating long by now, Dean would be shamelessly flirting with the waitress and Sammy would act mildly annoyed but still fond. Normally. Emphasis on the ‘normal’.

Because get this: Sam hadn’t woken up yet.

Hadn’t even so much as turned in his sleep, hung up on a hook with a needle in his arm. Even when the needle was gone, Sam still hadn’t been even twitchin’. He’d looked like he was experiencing the most peaceful dream ever, and would punch the ever loving shit out of Dean for waking him up. Which, heh, he couldn’t seem to do either.

_ Nothing _’d woken him up. Not even the drive back to the hotel, or Dean’s frantic yelling with Bobby on the other line. Not even Dean slapping him in the face multiple times, in the chest, hells even a punch to his balls did absolute jack shit.

If it went on like this any longer, Sam wouldn’t be the only one losing his mind.

\--

“How long he been like this?” Bobby, bless him, didn’t even bother with small talk, just went ahead and made himself right at home in Dean’s mess. And it _ was _a mess. Probably from all the screaming and trashing the place Dean’d been doing for the last, oh, 4 hours? But who was counting?

Dean’s voice sounded rubbed raw when he said: “Twelve hours? Give or take? But he got captured yesterday, around 11pm ish.”

11 pm. Yesterday. Sammy had been in this state for a whole _ night _. Great big brother he was, really. Fuckin’ A.

Bobby had taken some books with him to the motel, folklore apparently, which he now was unceremoniously slamming onto their small table. But unless those books were to whip the shit out of Sam, he didn’t know how those would help.

“Tried everything. Hell, I even tried the whole smelling salts thing.” Which he’d found out about via google search after Sam had run off on him the first time, and then spent the whole first week they were holed up after the hospital in a dissociative, catatonic state. Dissociation. Catatonia. Smelling salts. All these new wonderful things he was learning about, because of Sam.

He’d typed in ‘My brother is fucking crazy & seeing things help what do I do’ in the search bar. Pretty much all the articles and tumblr posts he’d read had told him to go screw himself and get his brother some real, professional help. Dean’d told them all “screw you” and then wiped his search history.

He knew how to take care of his own brother, fuck you very much.

Bobby was already fast reading through one of the bricks he called books, even while Dean had his little internal crisis. He seemed as calm as ever, if it wasn’t for the ever so subtle eye twitching he did while reading. Bobby’s eye always twitched whenever they’d found themselves in a sticky situation he didn’t know the fastest way out of. Telltale sign.

“Hmmm,” Bobby grunted, skimming through page upon page. Dean busied himself with going back to his sleeping beauty of a brother, all stretched out on the bed as if he was- _ No, not dead. Not yet. Not again. _

His skin was cold to the touch, almost like ice. Djinn victims usually burned straight hot.

Behind him, Bobby let out a low curse under his breath, then threw that book down to the ground in an out of character display of anger.

“Okay, okay,” Bobby said, probably talking to himself. “We got this.”

They were so screwed.

\--

“Drugs?”

“Dream root.”

Dean was still skeptic. “You want me to take some drugs to save my brother?” There was something familiar there, something from a previous case?

Bobby looked at him like he was just waiting to unleash that ‘idjit’.

Wait… Dream root…

Oh. “You mean the same thing we used to save you from your demon induced coma?” Dean was a fucking idiot. _ Of course. _ If Sam couldn’t get to him, he would just have to go to him. Bobby’s eyebrows rose an impossible amount. “How the hell we supposed to get african dream root? Here?”

Bobby just rolled his eyes as if to say ‘Oh, please’. “If Sam’s not awake by now, it’s probably cuz whatever fantasy romance novel story the djinn conjured up for him is just too great to pass up,” Bobby said, already putting his jacket back on and moving his way frantically around the room. He hadn’t even so much as said ‘hi’ to Sam, all professional saviour in the last minute. Which, yeah, granted Sam was currently unconscious but still. Manners.

Dean was trying to distract himself from the ever growing fear in his gut. Nothing was working.

Dean looked over his shoulder to Sam. “What’s so great that he’d ditch us?” _ Ditch me. _

Bobby just shrugged, for once unknowing. “You tell me, big brother.”

Truth was there were probably a lot more different scenarios which were a hell of a lot better than Sammy’s current reality. Any small step away from ‘Mentally ill and suffering from hell trauma and oh, my friend just betrayed me and then died’ was an upgrade. But Sam had to be knowing that it wasn’t real, right? He just had to. He wasn’t that naive. At least not as naive as Dean’d been.

There really was only one thing left, then. Dean cursed under his breath. “Jess.”

Bobby didn’t seem to remember Sam’s would be wife as acutely as Dean could. He just shook his head and frowned. “His girl from college?”

_ Yeah, probably one of Sam’s biggest traumas ever. An event Sam still has nightmares about. The tragedy that started this whole thing. His girl from college. _

“She died,” Dean sighed, as if it’d been just yesterday. “Remember? It was Azazel- or one of Azazel’s goonies, that did it. Burned to the ceiling.” He winced. He hadn’t meant to say that. “Sam was planning to propose. Move to the suburbs, become a lawyer. Buy a dog, the whole deal.”

Dean always felt impossibly guilty whenever he reminisced about what could have been. As if he’d been the one to drag him away from his happiness. Which yeah, his arrival at Sam’s dorm had been the beginning of the end. Dean bit his lip. Bobby just looked sad.

If Sammy really was dreaming about Jess and their potential life together, then maybe it was ok. Maybe he deserved that, a short reprieve from the ever waking nightmare that was Sam Winchester’s life.

Dean felt conflicted. “Maybe we should…” he started, and then didn’t know how to finish.

Bobby finished the thought for him. “Let him sleep? You know that don’t end well, son. You really want him to be comatose for the rest of his life?”

Dean struggled to get his thoughts in order. “‘Course not. I just think… Dunno. Doesn’t the kid deserve a break, Bobby?”

Bobby didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. You know I would give my life if that meant that boy never had to experience another blow coming for him ever again. But that ain’t how it works, son. If we leave him in this state, sooner or later he’s gonna die. Or worse, fall down the rabbit hole so hard we ain’t never gonna get him out of it.” Bobby chanced a look towards the bed then, the first he’d done since he entered, and the watery eyes and hard expression reminded Dean so much of John it almost gave him whiplash. He was right, Sam couldn’t go on like this. Dean wasn’t the only one who would be damaged beyond repair if anything happened to him.

“Okay,” Dean said, went to get his keys but Bobby’s gentle hand in the air stopped him.

“You stay with him,” he commanded, no room for negotiation. “Give me an hour, two tops.” And with that he was off, already opening the door to their small and humid motel room, the wind outside hitting them all at once. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room before. “I know a guy,” Bobby said, as way of explanation, before he was already making his way towards his truck.

Which meant that Dean was alone. Again. Alone with Sammy, like they always were.

He made his way back towards his brother, the instinct almost automatic. And then, because no one was there to call him a chick, he took Sam’s clampy ice cold hand and gingerly rubbed warmth into it.

Sam looked so peaceful.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he reassured him, reassured himself. “You’re gonna be just fine. Just hold on. I got you.”

What he didn’t, but wanted to, say was this: _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this. But I can’t have you leaving me, even for a fantasy. Not now, not ever. _

Dean counted the stitches in the carpet.

\--

In the end it didn’t even take the older hunter an hour to find a connection willing to give him a sample. He was back, 72 minutes later, looking even grumpier than he had before. There were shards of glass sticking onto his boot, making crunching noises as he stepped back inside with a small bag. Dean went to ask what the _ hell _ but Bobby just gave him the biggest glare ever and then muttered “Don’t ask.” So he didn’t.

The thing looked small, almost like a couple grams of weed, in the clear plastic bag. Was this really supposed to save his brother’s life? Dean had his doubts.

Bobby already went to mix up the potion, plucking a few pieces of hair from Sam’s luscious locks. Dean almost felt offended on Sam’s behalf but desperate times.

“Hey, can you mix some sugar in there or sumthin? ‘Cuz last time I downed that, it tasted like ass. Actual ass.”

“Good, so you know what you taste like,” Bobby just retorted back from the kitchen cabinet. Dean went to flip him the bird but- “Don’t you dare cuss me out, son. I’ll whip yer ass.”

Dean put his hand back down. Okay. Lesson learned. When Bobby went back into the room, glass of something that looked like coffee if you squinted in hand, Dean just now realized what he was about to do. He was about to step into his brother’s subconscious, the hidden treasure chest no one had ever seen before. Not even Dean. These days, Sam avoided talking about what was up with him like the plague. Couldn’t say he blamed him.

It felt strangely violating, like taking a peak while someone was in the shower. The emotion probably translated to his face, too, because Bobby just gently tapped his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured him. “It ain’t gonna be like with me. Not like Pan’s labyrinth.”

Dean squinted but took the drink. “Who?”

“It’s a saying, from this movie me and Sam- forget it. Point is, djinn strictly deal in wish fulfillment. Trust me. Whatever’s going on in there is gonna be Sam’s biggest desire, world peace and all. I mean, it’s Sam!” Bobby pointed towards said sleeping beauty, whose eyelashes were fluttering inconspicuously. “How bad could it be?”

Dean shrugged. True. Sam was too kind hearted, too sweet for anything else. Dude dreamt of normal like Dean dreamt of free cable anime porn. Which reminded him.

Dean closed in on his brother, a breath away from his sleeping face, leaning in real close. “Sammy, I hope for your sake that you’ll make this little B movie kid friendly for me,” he whispered. “So whatever genitals are currently on full display in there, y’all better tuck that shit back in.”

Bobby snorted. Dean exchanged a look with him, a look which meant ‘Whatever happens, save Sam first’, and then downed the potion in one go.

It _ did _taste like ass. Of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sam. How bad could it be?

He was in a garden, that much was obvious. Or a … bush? Fuck, he didn’t know. It _ looked _like a garden if said gardener hadn’t done their job for a whole century.

Dean was standing on solid ground but he couldn’t see said ground because there were a thousand veins of weeds intertwined in a trillion intricate ways all over the ground. He took a careful step forward and the plant gave way to his demand. Okay, so walking wasn’t a problem. So long as whatever the fuck was hiding under those vines would stay the _ fuck _away from his ankles he would be fine. God, he wished he had a gun. Anything.

“Jesus, Sam,” he muttered, looking back around. “Apocalyptic much?” There was that plant and it was everywhere, covering every and any surface. In the distance he could just about make out the shape of trees, swallowed up by the green horror plant. It looked like monsters. It looked like a nightmare.

“What the fuck, Sam,” he let out, spinning around wildly. He didn’t have time to judge Sam’s interior design choices he needed to get to him. Then somehow convince him that he was dying and to get the hell back over the surface. Dean didn’t know how he was going to do that yet but his big brotherly instincts never failed him. Which usually involved yelling and screaming in situations like these. Worked well so far.

He looked around again. There had to be _ something _, anything abnormal in this huge abnormality. Something which just screamed “Sam”. So far, nothing did. Did Bobby really mix in Sam’s hair? Hopefully.

So Dean got on walking.

\--

It took him only maybe 15 minutes in total to find something there in the distance. A … house? Or a cave? He wasn’t sure what with it having been swallowed up by the plant (and he remembered a plant like that, somewhere in New Orleans but fuck him if he knew the name of it). But it felt… important. Momentous. Like the place to be right now, so Dean went on going there and crashing Sam’s party. He was less and less sure he would encounter Jess in all this (Had Jess been a plant freak? He couldn’t remember) but he didn’t know who else he would see, either. Or _ what _ else.

This was his brother’s mind, his deepest desire, and it was a mystery to him. He was completely in the dark. That thought hurt.

“Sam?” He called out. “Sammy, you in- AAAAAH!” Dean was real glad there was no one else around to hear his high pitched scream because, pinch him if he was wrong but there had been something _ stroking _ his _ goddamn _ankle just now. Just for a second. Dean flailed so hard he almost tripped over his own feet and would’ve fallen straight first into demon plant. He jerked again because right next to him there was movement under the covers. Fast movement.

_ What the fuck was that. _

What started as just a brush on his ankle transformed into the whole bush vibrating, vibrating with whatever demon force of Sam’s subconscious that had played footsie with him moments before. It looked like the weed was _ laughing _.

“What the fuck is going on,” Dean muttered, thought of crouching down to inspect whatever the hell it was but then thought better of it. MhhhMm. No thank you ma’am. Whatever it was it could mind its own business and Dean could mind his own. And get to his brother. Which was more important.

Gingerly, incredibly slowly he went back to walking towards the building, putting as little distance as possible between the soles of his boots and the ground. He didn’t wanna start jogging just to catch something under his foot and have that thing _ screech _ at him. Or God forbid, _ crunch _ like a cockroach. Really did not need _ that _ memory added on to his plate right now.   
Dean started walking faster though, when he noticed something ominous: Whatever swarm was taking a collective jog right now, they were all moving towards one direction, the same one he had: the building.

Whatever funky shit would go down it would go down in that place, he was sure of it by now. Sam would be there, either alone or… not alone. Dean shook his head violently. He didn’t need to think about that. Right now, all he had to do was walk. Just walk.

Even if every step closer towards the house (and closer he was by now, so much closer, he could practically _ feel _it) made him feel like he was stepping in quicksand, every movement more complicated and harder. As if someone, or something - Sam’s subconscious probably, or the lingering Djinn poison - was trying to prevent him from saving his brother.

That thing didn’t know who the hell it was dealing with.

\--

Snakes. That’s what that had been, curling underneath his foot. Fucking white snakes, a shit load of them, wherever he had to look there they were. Glowing red eyes. Hissing and seething but otherwise calm. As if waiting for something.

He was inside the building. Dean didn’t remember even walking _ inside,_ one minute he was outside fighting his way farther in and then he got spit back out in an abandoned… house? Church, it seemed like. He couldn’t tell what with all the snakes and weed. The entire place was vacant not even one chair had been left but it sure _ felt _like a church.

Dean frowned. Where there had been sparsely any light before there was a load of it now, coming from all directions. He already had a headache.

This place… it seemed familiar, somehow. Like something he ought to remember but couldn’t for the life of him place. Anyway, when was he ever in a church? No offense. The only important churches him and Sam had ever been in were back-

Oh.

His stomach started churning, full with anxiety. He remembered now. He almost wished he didn’t. 

St Mary's Convent, Ilchester, Maryland.

Him and Sam’s worst betrayal. Ruby. Sam, eyes turning black as he choked the life out of a demon using nothing but his mind. The gathering of blood. Light. So much fucking light, like right now.

The beginning of the end. The jumpstart to the apocalypse.

Lucifer.

Bobby’s voice at the back of his head:_ Djinns strictly deal in wish fulfillment. _

Sam’s deepest desire was - was a rerun of the apocalypse. Jesus Sammy, _ what? _

He _ really _ had to get them the hell outta dodge before shit hit the fan so Dean started running, barely seeing where he was stepping due to the blinding light. He didn’t care how many snakes he accidentally ran into, he just wanted to get to his brother.

Who knows, maybe the snakes _ were _ Sam.

He kept running, and running, and jesus this place was _ huge_, when did it end? Dean didn’t know. 

He saw him maybe a couple metres away crouched in the grass. Sam. Sammy.

Dean could have cried. “Sammy,” he breathed out, then louder: “Sammy! Hey! Over here!”

When he got closer - yeah, that was Sam alright. Sam, shirtless, crouched on the ground. Fate spared him embarrassment by at least wearing some jeans. He was barefoot. There were scars on his back, his feet, his chest, littered in what looked like very intricate symbols or patterns. Dean knew his brother, knew him like the back of his hand. Knew every scar tissue, every wound and every story behind it. These? These were new. They looked fresh, too.

Was Sam’s biggest desire some weird S&M whipping porno?

“Sam…,” he tried again but he didn’t seem to see or even hear him. He was a ghost, an extra. An intruder in Sam’s fantasy and if he wanted either of them to get out it had to be _ Sam _ calling the shots. Dean couldn’t do jack shit. Except call for his brother. “Sammy! It’s Dean! Come on, get up!”

He wanted to walk closer toward him but something, some deeper force really wanted his feet to stay planted there. Probably to observe but to not interact. No matter how hard he tried it just wouldn’t budge. In a battle of wills, Sam’s mind obviously was stronger than him. So Dean, even though he hated it, settled down to enjoy the show. Waiting for the right moment to strike - how, he didn’t know yet. He’d come up with something. He always did.

The ground was soft as he sat down on it. Incredibly soft. There was a huge circle around him that seemed to be some sort of invincible barrier preventing the snakes from getting to him, even though it looked like they desperately wanted to bite into him. Who knows maybe that was his brother, protecting him even then.

_ Thanks, Sam. _

\--

He didn’t have to wait long. Sam’s subconscious seemed to be on the clock here and couldn’t wait to get this show on the road.

Because Sam wasn’t alone - or he had been, and then in the blink of an eye there was another silhouette, another fleshy body there on the grass sitting incredibly close towards Sam. Dean knew that body, knew that face. Had know it a long time ago. He almost wanted to vomit into Sam’s brain.

“Lucifer,” he breathed out, furious. “You son of a bitch. What did you do to him.”

Sam didn’t look like he was being tortured, though. He seemed calm as ever, maybe even _ happy _to see that piece of shit. The sigh he let out was audible even to Dean, and Lucifer- Lucifer smiled? He’d never seen him smile before, not like this, all warmth and no murderous undertones. Ten seconds ago he didn’t even think the devil had it in him to smile like that.

While looking at his brother. 

Anger churned in his stomach, the urge to protect white red and hot. _ Get the hell away from him! _ Dean bit his tongue. As horrified as he was he was also intrigued. Was this what the cage had been like? Sam never talked about it, and Dean didn’t ask him. He sure as hell was gonna ask him _ now_, after this whole ordeal was over.

Lucifer spoke, the voice loud and harrowing, almost as blinding as the lights coming from everywhere (coming from _him)._ It hurt to listen to, like thunder. Maybe it was Dean and his brain but he couldn’t decipher what he was saying, not if his life depended on it. It… didn’t sound like English. It sounded strange, like someone speaking while trying to avoid pronouncing any vowels. He’d heard that kind of talk before, with Castiel.

Enochian. Angel tongue.

Dean shuddered. He didn’t speak Enochian thankfully, if he did this whole thing would probably fry his brain but it sounded… ominous. Demanding.

And to his surprise, to his shock, Sam did the unthinkable: He replied. But he didn’t reply in English, either.

Dean knew he was starting to look like a broken record but it bared repeating: What the _ FUCK _ was going _ ON. _

There was a hand stroking Sammy’s face. Lucifer’s - Nick? Was that the poor guy’s name? - hand. Not cutting down or smiting. Just gentle touch. Dean could see that Sam was weeping just from that bread crumb. As if it hurt. Or it didn’t.

Sam’s voice was calm and clear, faster and less gravelly than Lucifer’s but still just as fluent. Like he’d been speaking this his entire live, as if there was nothing else. _ (Had it felt like this?) _

Dean felt sick, and stupid. Because of course. Why didn’t he consider this before? Of _ course _ archangels didn’t speak English, nor any other earthly language, amongst themselves. Sam had been left with two very, very angry archangels who both despised humanity. Made sense that they’d think speaking in any earthly tongue would be beneath them, so they didn’t even try.

What had Lucifer called them? Hairless apes? 

Dean clenched his fist impossibly hard, so hard his nails drew blood. How long had Sam been tortured in Enochian before his ever adapt brain had figured out the vocabulary? The correct pronunciation? The grammar? How many sessions on the rack had it taken for him to pick up an entire new _ language _?

In this moment, Dean really wished either Lucifer or Michael were still alive, just so he could kill them again.

It didn’t seem like he was torturing him right now, though. It seemed… romantic. It seemed holy. Like a baptism. Dean didn’t know what to do about that information, how he was supposed to save his brother from this. Sam was already deep, deep in the well. His dad had been right, he _ was _a failure.

The words Lucifer said next sounded like a question. Or a command. He cupped Sam’s entire face in his big, calloused _ (calloused from torturing him?) _hands.

Sam’s reply sound like an affirmation.

Slowly, ever so slowly without a moment’s hesitation, Sam placed his own hands on his chest, probably where his heart was. He looked… scared. Another quick sentence of Enochian, this time Dean could’ve sworn it would translate to something like ‘Do I have to?’. He got ready to strike, made to stand up but his hands and feet were fixed to the floor.

“Damn it,” he cursed, tried to get rid of what felt like super glue keeping his body on the ground. “Sam? Sam! Look at me!” He didn’t know what he was supposed to be saying, so he just said anything. “Whatever he’s telling you to do, don’t do it! Sam? SAM!”

The circle around his body protecting him from the snakes was gone. Curtain close, they were throwing him out of the theater. They were making their way towards him, panic rising deep from his gut, making it hard to breathe.

He almost could have missed it under all the panicking and snakes when Sam started tearing open his own chest. Like it was nothing. Like it was dough, ready to be modeled how he needed it to. Dean stared, pure horror. Laws of physics didn’t apply here apparently. Lucifer could have him remodeled however he liked - if Dean didn’t step in.

Sam looked like he was in a great deal of pain, just splurging open his own chest and showcasing his insides - jesus his _ ribs - _but he didn’t stop. Not once. Not even when him breaking his own ribs one by one made him cry out. Lucifer was smiling like this was some sorta sick love confession.

Dean was well and truly struggling now, the first couple snakes already finding their way onto his hands, his legs, under his shirt. “SAM! SAMMY! HOLD ON!”

It felt like he was being penetrated, like the snakes were going _ deeper_, along with Sam’s self mutilation. It didn’t hurt, though. Dean almost wished it did.

As it did, there was just pressure, pressure everywhere, engulfing his entire being. He was being dragged under, on his back. His legs were twisted all wrong, as were his arms but he could move neither of those.

Even as the snakes started making their way towards his head he screamed for his brother.

“SAMMY, listen to me! LISTEN! It’s okay! Whatever happens, it’s okay, gonna be okay. You have to wake up now Sam, you gotta take control!” His throat burned with desperation. If this was Sam’s subconscious then was he also currently being killed by him? Was this Sam’s doing, instead of the Devil’s? _ (Was the distinction even worth noting, after so many years in the Cage?) _

If this was Sam, Sam slashing him open and crawling inside, then Dean was okay with that. If Sam went down then hell if he wasn’t gonna go down swingin’ with him. But that didn’t mean he had to go down without some fight in him.

Freeing his legs took strength he didn’t have but he figured he could at least wriggle one hand out of the snakes’ grasp. It took some minutes but he did it. His left hand was miraculously free.

“Hold on, Sammy!” he yelled out, no longer able to truly see what was going on from this position. He tried to sit up some. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

With pure rage, he took the snake currently trying to restrict his airflow and choke him to death, took it by the slimy neck. Imagined that snake being Lucifer, or Michael, or the fucking djinn, and just _ squeezed_. Squeezed until his hand felt like lead, until it hurt. The snake started screeching like he was well and truly killing it. He hoped it was. Even if that snake represented his brother’s mind.

_ I’m sorry, Sam. _

“Die, fucking die bitch!” He screamed, squeezed again for good measure then threw the thing as far as he could throw which wasn’t much. The snake laid there for a couple seconds then shook its disgusting little body and slithered away. “YEAH, fucking run! You wait till I’m done with your brothers and sisters, you son of a bitch!”

From this half sitting position he could finally watch what was happening again - he almost wished he couldn’t. Because Sam’s chest was well and truly open now, split open like during an autopsy. Inside there was nothing now, for some weird reason, nothing but broken ribs and a heart he almost couldn’t make out. Eroded to fit someone else. And the snakes.

They’d had already nestled inside there like a huge big reptile family gathering, straining and moving Sam’s skin. He didn’t look so good, dazed and delirious, crying from being overwhelmed.

Dean swore, took the snake gunning for his eye socket and squeezed its head until it couldn’t scream anymore then threw it aside. Fuck, he didn’t know what to do. He was shit out of luck here.

“SAMMY!” Another snake got thrown across the grass. It didn’t matter though because even if those never returned to finish him off, there were always more snakes slithering to him and crawling their way out of the earth. Dean felt like crying. “SAMMY, I don’t know what to do. Shit, if you don’t do something soon, I’ll die! We’ll both die! So fucking… DO SOMETHING!!”

There was a change in Sam’s expression, like maybe he’d heard a little bit of that but he found it hard to reply to his big brother given that there were now three snakes splitting open his mouth. His eyes were moving rapidly though, and that was a start.

“Don’t let these fucking things get to me, get to us! Fight it, Sam! I know you can! You’ve done it before- HRRNG” Somehow while he wasn’t looking a reptile had managed to ensnare his neck and now slammed it back to earth. The impact hurt but not nearly as much as the steady pressure encircling and denting his windpipe.

He was burning, he was on fire, every cell of his body was being invaded and warped. Like bacteria being fought off by the immune system.

“Sam,” he wheezed, barely there. He tried not to open his mouth too much, didn’t want one of those sons of bitches getting the wrong idea. That was a last resort he didn’t ever wanna cross. “Sam, please don’t kill me. Sammy…”

His lungs didn’t wanna work. Neither did his heart. It was like they were all trying to shut off, being consumed by his own baby brother.

_ So this is how I die, huh. This is how the story ends _…

He couldn’t remember anymore if he was fine with that or not. The only thing he could focus on was the pressure squeezing him from all sides. He was weak, his body was dough.

That was how it was.

…

\--

“... Dean?”

He almost couldn’t hear it, what with the snakes and grass everywhere. Who knows, maybe it _ was _the snakes. Dean wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make the sound reach the surface. Didn’t matter.

“Dean, hold on!”

The pressure was getting lighter now for some reason. He wanted it back. There was comfort in being held like this. Whoever was screaming for him could wait.

_ “Dean!” _

\--

Dean woke with a start and then proceeded to throw up the entire contents of his stomach on his damn legs. His lungs were on fire, his stomach constricting violently, he couldn’t breathe, they were-

They were fine. His lungs were fine. He didn’t know how but the pressure was gone, not even any remnants of it in his system.

How did-

“Dean! Fuck’s sake, say something, son!” Big hands were gripping him, shaking him violently. It was his name, or maybe it was the violence with which he was being grabbed, that did it for him. It all came flooding back.

Djinn. Sam being taken. Sam not waking up. Bobby. The dream root. … _ Lucifer _ . The weeds. Snakes. (Dean wouldn’t be able to go to the Zoo, let alone any reptile houses, for _ months _ .) Sam. _ Sam. _

“... Sam? SAM!” Dean threw Bobby’s well meaning hands off and bolted upright and out of the bed, almost landing on his ass again. He felt like he usually did after a bender only with much worse coordination. Like his feet were mush.

He forced them forward anyway and fell down on wobbly knees along Sam’s bed.

“Dean, talk to me! What the hell happened? Did you find him?”

He couldn’t answer him, couldn’t do anything but hold onto Sam’s shoulders and shake him violently. Because Sam’s eyes, _ damn _him, were still closed. But that flutter under his eyelids didn’t look at all peaceful.

“Sammy! Sammy, wake _ up _, damn it!”

Thank God, or whoever else existed and currently was watching, because Sam opened his eyes. Abruptly those green eyes stared straight into the ceiling, then blinked, spun around the room frantically.

Dean was so relieved he could’ve hugged him.

He almost did, if it wasn’t for the ear splitting cry Sam let out right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in seeing how the dreamscape I pictured looks like in reality do yourselves a favor and google "Kudzu monsters". All that's left now is the aftermath and some good ol' talk (explaining whatever the hell *that* just was).


	3. Chapter 3

They were in a diner in Michigan. Dean didn’t really know the name of the town, or the diner, and he didn’t really care about it either.

It had been 10 days since Sam’d woken up screaming bloody murder and had to get sedated by a team of two adult hunters who still somehow had struggled to hold him down long enough to put the syringe to flesh.

After that everything went back to normal. All fucking peachy.

As if Dean hadn’t just witnessed the most disturbing glimpse inside a mind since American Psycho. As if he hadn’t drunk himself to sleep pretty much every night since then. As if Dean wasn’t spiraling.

Sam’d said he was fine. Sam’d said he didn’t remember most of it. Dean really had to call bullshit on that one, even Bobby looked suspicious but said nothing. Just had packed his bags, told them to call if they needed anything, gave Dean one of those _ looks _ and then left.

The ball was in Dean’s court now apparently. He really was supposed to fix this. This stranger that was his brother but also not really. Someone he didn’t recognize entirely but recognized just enough for it to hurt like hell.

Shit.

At least Sam wasn’t hallucinating, hadn’t been ever since he got back. Dean didn’t know what that meant anymore, if that was a good thing or not.

Parts of him wondered if that pressure, that insistent force coming from all side… if that was what riding shotgun with an archangel was like. Once upon time Dean hadn’t been far from that either. 

Anyway they were in that diner. America’s finest. Dean’d ordered eggs and bacon along with some waffles. Sam ‘wasn’t hungry’ apparently. Yeah, fat chance. Not like they’d been on the road pretty much for an entire week now, hunting leviathans and then witches and then leviathans again. Dean tried to remember the last time he’d seen his little brother enjoy a meal, really enjoy it, instead of eating it for Dean’s benefit. Couldn’t remember.

But Sam was _ fine _, right.

“You hungry, Sammy?” Dean asked when his food came. So far Sam hadn’t said a single thing but listened on as intently as ever to whatever hell bullshit story was currently coming out of Dean’s mouth. _ Dean _didn’t even register the flat noise.

Sam jerked and he almost coulda gotten away with it if Dean wasn’t eyeing him 24/7 these days. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Sam to open up.

Instead he could see his brother close himself off right in front of his eyes. “I‘m fine, Dean,” was the answer. 

Something about that line, that compulsive downplaying and lying Sam seemed to couldn’t let go of, really ground Dean’s gears. Made something ugly flare up in his chest. As if Sam was the only one suffering.

Dean pushed the plate of fresh eggs and bacon, steaming hot, to his ill looking brother. Something about the smell seemed to set something off in him. Dean wanted that button pushed, he wanted the levee to break, for something to _ happen _, goddamnit. Dean could only fix this if Sam opened his big dumb mouth. “Eat, Sam,” he said, not even a hint of a question in there. Sam really couldn’t object if he wanted to.

There was something ugly in Sam’s face, snarling back at his demand. Staring his brother down. “Why,” he asked, flattened expression and voice if not for that little snarl he couldn’t seem to suppress.

_ Because you’re hiding from me. Because you’ve been doing it for so long and gotten under so deep I can’t draw you out. Because in a world of possibilities and scenarios for that dream you chose Lucifer. Over Jess, over me. _

_ Why’d you choose Lucifer, Sammy? _

“Because,” Dean said instead, voice growing louder and louder. “Been on the road for a while. You need your strength, Sammy.” He couldn’t stop, afraid his brother would slip away from his grasp completely if he didn’t hold on as tightly and as suffocating as possible.

Sam looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, really eying him up and down. _ I’m right here, Sammy. I’m not a hallucination, don’t you worry. _ “I’m not hungry, Dean,” he replied, carefully, so fucking careful. As if Dean was a caged animal.

Hah, caged.

“When’s the last time you ate _ anything _, Sam?”

“Drop it, Dean. Told you I’m fine.” Sam’s hands were clenched under his side.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah? You’re _ fine _?”

_ You’re fine except you’re tripping balls. You’re fine except you won’t eat. You’re fine except you’re really not, are ya Sammy? _

Sam flinched away violently as if hit. It took Dean an embarrassing amount of time to realize that he’d just said all that out loud. And even more time to register Sam moving as fast as ever, away from the booth and out of the diner. Parts of Dean, hell his entire freaking being was yelling at him to follow his brother outside. But he was also afraid of whatever would greet him if he did, what Sam would say. What he would tell him.

The food, perfectly good food, laid there untouched. Dean went back to eating.

\--

The next time Dean was free, had one fucking minute to himself, he did a little research. In the Impala because apparently he was a fucking clichée as well as a coward. Knew that asking Google instead of just approaching his brother was low. And somehow he doubted that normal shrinks could apply their methods to things like extensive hell trauma.

But he didn’t want the remnants of Sam’s sanity sneaking up on him and choking him to death again, not if he wasn’t prepared. He was shit out of luck.

So he googled. Put the symptoms in the search bar and let someone else think for a second. He ended up with way more than he could chew.

> STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, noun: the psychological tendency of a hostage to bond with, identify with, or sympathize with his or her captor.

That… threw him off. Dean hadn’t thought of hell time as anything resembling kidnapping or hostage situations, but wasn’t it? Was Sam feeling some sort of sympathy towards the literal devil? But how? He kept scrolling.

> Why STOCKHOLM SYNDROME Happens And How To Help

_‘Stockholm syndrome is a psychological condition, which bla bla bla.’_ Dean wasn’t here for a psychology lesson, lady. The constant use of ‘abusive relationship’ and ‘victim’ was really getting to him. Captivity he was willing to admit, fine yeah, Sam had been captured. Sam had been in a hostage situation with his back to the wall.

But _ abusive relationship? _ Did that put Sam, his brother, the guy who saved the fucking world, really in the same category as abused housewives? Did that turn Lucifer into a wife beater?

The devil had wanted to ride Sam, yeah, but not _ ride _ him. Not like that.

_ ‘Or…,’ _a toxic part of him seemed to say, letting the word ping pong around his head and catch everything on fire. Dean shook his head violently. No.

He clicked off the website and went back to the search results. _ Fuck you, missus therapist. You don’t know shit about my brother. _

_ ‘Doesn’t she?’ _ the voice in his head said. It sounded suspiciously like a mix of Azazel and Lucifer. Dean shuddered involuntarily. _ ‘Positive regard towards abusers, little or no effort to escape - you remember soulless Sam, Dean-o? How hard he fought to not have that thing shoved back in him.’ _

“No,” he growled.

_ ‘Feelings of pity towards the abusers - after all, they’re so very similar. Two halves made whole. Appeasement of captors, so as to avoid further torture, going along with their plans. Unwillingness to detach themselves from their abusers and heal, even if freed? Any of that ring a bell?’ _

Going back to the search results didn’t help, because now that he’d read that article all the other ones were similar, all big neon signs reading “HOW TO HELP SOMEONE IN AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP” “3 WAYS TO CONVINCE SOMEONE TO LEAVE AN ABUSIVE HOME SITUATION”, all screaming in his face the one thing he already knew: He’d failed.

He’d told his brother stone number one, to build on him when Sammy had been this close to shooting his own head off. He couldn’t build on _ this _ . Didn’t even fucking know what the fuck _ this _was.

He did click on that second article though, just out curiosity. Tried to convince himself he was searching for someone else, tried really fucking hard not to imagine his baby brother in a _ romantic relationship _ with the Devil.

> Step 1: Discussing the relationship
> 
> Remember that you can't save your loved one. You are not responsible for them, and you cannot take control of their lives. You are not a savior or an expert. However, you can be a supportive presence in their lives.

Dean cringed so hard and violently that his teeth were screaming at him to stop. He felt personally insulted, called a failure right then and there on fucking WikiHow. What did they know with their stupid illustrations.

_ ‘Doesn’t feel so good, does it, kiddo?’ _

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, to everyone and no one in particular. He felt like the one hallucinating. This had all been a mistake. He woulda been better off staring into the end of a beer bottle at the local bar.

Dean lost it when he read the part that told him not to criticize ‘Sam’s abuser’ in front of him. Now he wasn’t even allowed to call out the fucking Devil?! Just because some website told him not to? Dean scratched the leather of the seat under him, felt the familiar feel and smell of his Baby’s front seat. Clenched his hand and dug his nails so deep into his skin he drew blood. He was shaking so violently it felt like he could never stop.

It felt like there was a white python draped around his neck, both Lucifer and Sam, Sam’s mind. Slithering into his ear.

_ ‘Do you get it now?’ _ the thing seemed to say. _ ‘How beyond repair your little brother is?’ _

Dean turned the impala’s keys in the ignition. He needed a fucking drink.

\--

When he went back into their motel room Sam was looking at his exposed chest in the mirror like something was growing under it. The bathroom door was closed but that didn’t stop a big brother like him. Dean lost it. He mighta been a teeny tiny bit drunk. Whatever. He was allowed.

“What the fuck, Dean! You can’t just-” Sam was all ready to bitch, as if Dean interrupting him during his beauty baths was anything new. He seemed annoyed, bitch face back on, and it almost seemed back to normal. Dean faltered.

But he remembered that google search. Remembered Stockholm Syndrome, noun. Looked at his brother and couldn’t see anything _ but _that.

“We needta talk, Sammy,” he said, tried really hard not to slur. Him being slightly drunk had nothing to do with this.

Sam’s expression changed from bitchiness to pure terror and fear, just for a second, just long enough for him to look at all those cracks underneath. All strewn on the floor like a weird art installation. This was his brother, the broken art project.

The mask went back on just as fast though. The simplicity with which he did it, like it was instinct, pissed Dean the fuck off. “About what?” Sam asked, playing dumb. Glaring at Dean while he put his shirt back on.

Dean breathed out. Here we go. Point of no return. “About the djinn,” he answered, carefully keeping it vague while placing himself in between Sam and the only point of exit. He didn’t want him running off, not now.

Sam saw the placement of his body for what it was, expression growing harder. “You killed it, right?” His tone seemed… dangerous. Reminded him of Lucifer, of the way he would often just barely say more than a low whisper. Cuz he didn’t need to. The threat was clear. “What about it?” The comparison gave him whiplash, made him imagine Sam speaking to him in that strange language instead of English. A year and 8 months.

Dean nodded then shook his head. “No, I mean about the - about after.” The noise of him swallowing uncomfortably was deafening in the space between them. “The dream, Lu-” Funny, he’d been thinking that name for over a year now on and off, always with no problem, but now he found it difficult to get the word out. “Lucifer. You… and him. In that field. I was there. And I know you remember so don’t you dare lie to me.”

The smile that stretched out Sam’s face was dangerous, not even a hint of warmth. “Like you did with me? After you came back?” Sam was ready to play dirty to get out of this conversation, just like Dean’d predicted.

_ Exactly, _ he wanted to scream. _ I fucking know a thing or two about torture. So why won’t you talk to me?! _

Dean nodded, crossed his arms in front of his chest because he didn’t know what the fuck to do with them. “Yeah and look how well that turned out.”

The expression on Sam’s face turned softer, reassuring. He almost wanted to buy it. “Dean, I’m-”

“Handling it, yeah. And that mighta worked before, but now? Tough shit if you don’t wanna talk but we gotta. Cuz Sammy, I’m starting to go insane.”

Sam laughed, high and shrill. _ Tell me about it. _“Sorry.”

“Stone number one, remember? You promised. You fucking _ promised _.” And yeah, maybe that was a low blow, placing the blame on Sam, but what else was he supposed to do? This was all going too slow he needed the situation to escalate. Knew how to place punches better than comforting words.

Sam startled and looked at him, really looked. Like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, like he couldn’t trust his own eyes. His thumb went back to the angry looking scar tissue on his palm, squeezed it lightly in reflex. Causing that kind of reaction making his brother fear his own mind - yeah, sure, was heartbreaking. Dean felt like shit. But lately he felt like shit all the time and they needed to talk about this, so.

He inhaled, tried to speak as carefully and as judge free as possible for the next words: “Was that what it was like? The Cage?”

_ Were you stuck in an abusive marriage with Satan, Sammy? Did you worship the devil? Tell me. _

Sam full body shudder seemed involuntary, instantaneous and purely out of fear. He looked from side to side, probably looking for You Know Who to start rearing his ugly head back in. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. “Dean…,” Sam started, a warning interlaced with fear.

Dean ignored it, took a step forward and towards his shivering brother. Sam automatically let his back hit the wall, like a cag- like a trapped animal. His eyes were pleading for him to stop.

Dean wanted to stop, too. He wanted nothing more than to pretend that all of this never happened, that everything was all sunshine and rainbows between them all the fucking time, but he couldn’t anymore. He was all out of excuses and fucks to give.

Dean started in on him again. “Did he make you…” He didn’t know how to say it. “Were you forced to… participate?” He could almost imagine it. Had the ugly picture of Sam on a rack, with Dean presenting him all the knife options for the day. _ ‘So, Sammy, what’ll it be?’ _

There was a change in Sam’s facial expression after he’d said the ‘forced to’ part. “What does it matter?” he spat out, made to walk away from him and out of the door.

Dean didn’t think, he just reacted. Grabbed a hold of his brother with both hands and didn’t let go, even when Sam started shaking uncontrollably. But damn was it hard. His brother was a fucking giant.

“Let go of me!” Sam was screaming, voice wobbly and unsteady. “Let me go!”

“No,” Dean said through clenched teeth. “Not until you talk to me.” His cheek was currently squished into his brother’s shoulder and he could feel how tense he was. Dean wasn’t having the greatest time either. He really wanted to get this over with so they could go back to their regular bitchy comments. One of Sam’s enormous biceps almost collided with his face before he managed to dodge. “Stop struggling, damn it!”

It was like a button had been switched off at those words because Sam stopped struggling almost immediately. It was a little creepy how well that’d worked, his brother felt like a puppet with its strings cut in his arms. Dean wanted to let go but he was also afraid that this whole spiel was just a rouse to get him distracted. So he tightened his hold.

“Talk,” Dean murmured into his shoulder. It wasn’t a question.

“It… It’s not what you think.” Sam was speaking so quietly Dean really had to strain his ears to understand. His voice sounded dead, almost reminded him of when he’d been soulless. But this was different - it was worse. “I didn’t just… break the minute I was in there.”

He’d never say that. Not in a million years. His brother might be a little bitch but he was also the strongest person he knew. Had carried him a million times. Had fought the devil. But Dean also prided himself on being strong willed and he broke after 30 years. How long had it taken for Sammy?

He wanted to say that, wanted to reassure him, but all that came out was “How long?”

Sam shuddered and finally managed to free himself, if only to walk backwards towards the wall and let his body slide down into the ground. “Long,” he sighed. He wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t looking at anything. Dean felt like he had an unfair advantage, so he crouched down as well. Like this it felt a little like a girl’s sleep over. Any second now they would braid each other’s hair. “Stopped counting. No point. Just more and more hooks and cold hands and ice every day. And...” He shuddered, didn’t finish the sentence his brother didn’t wanna know the end of anyways.

So Sam had kept on fighting, even when Dean had thrown in the towel… which didn’t in the least explain the hellish landscape Dean had been witness to. “But the…,” he started then didn’t know how to finish.

Sam just frowned. “Djinn? Yeah.” He chuckled, all hollow. It took all he had not to crawl up there and hug his brother. But if they stopped talking now, they might never again have the chance. “About that. Funny story: So turns out that physical torture’s just foreplay for him. Satan’s real forte is all about the mind. Take your psyche and turn it inside out. That’s more up his alley, we found out.”

_ We? _Dean didn’t know if that meant him and the devil or him and Adam. For a minute there, for a long minute, he’d almost forgotten about the other Winchester. Currently still in hell. The guilt clawed at him like ice.

Mind torture - of course. Dean swallowed. No wonder his brother was so fucked up. “How?”

Sam closed his eyes, let his head hit the back of the wall. “Once, when he was … you know. I told him to stop. To stop and leave me alone. And you know what he said?” His voice changed slightly, got darker and quieter. “_ ‘As you wish’ _. I was just numb by now, completely hollowed out. There was nothing but the pain, and the pain had started to grow dull. Stale. I think he might’ve noticed, and decided to change tactics. Grew bored of it too probably, after a while. So he left. Just left me lying there.”

Dean blinked. That didn’t sound like a horror story at all, nothing like the snakes and vines he’d seen. So what… “But that sounds… great. The devil backing off?” Dean whistled. “Who’d have thought?”

Sam laughed but it sounded hollow and painful. “Yeah,” he sighed, his big arms wrapping around his torso as if he was shielding himself. “Thought so too. I felt fucking powerful at first, ecstatic. But the cage… it doesn’t work like you think it does. It’s not like a prison cell, or like hell. I mean… I guess it was hell, but to me it felt more like nothing. Big black nothing. Like the void.” Sam opened his eyes again and Dean swore his pupils looked darker. Couldn’t be sure though. “The cage was made to fit an archangel and because of that Lucifer could basically shape and form it to his will. Home design. But without him, without his light… There’s nothing. Can’t even talk, there’s no atmosphere to carry the sound. Just black. Lucifer always made sure to show me a bare glimpse of the real thing when he was with me, didn’t want me losing my shit completely just yet, but without him? I was exposed.”

Dean tried to imagine it, tried to imagine a big black nothing. Like space. He couldn’t. Even when Alistair hadn’t been there, there had always been someone else, something else, to occupy his mind. In hell Dean could still dream. He could still wish, could still yearn for things. What was he supposed to do in a place that seemed to swallow him up, eat him whole? He didn’t know.

No wonder Sam wasn’t as talkative as he’d been before - he’d forgotten how.

Sam looked at him, studied his expression and his thought process like he was waiting for it to click. When it did, he smiled sadly. “Yeah. After a while of that, of no human or- non-human contact, you kinda start to lose your mind with it. Humans aren’t meant to go this long without any source of contact, or food, or light, or … anything really. All day’s the same and all night’s the same. And that’s when you realize something.” Sam bit his lip, started chewing on it.

“What?” Dean was almost definitely sure he didn’t want to know.

Sam smiled at him and there wasn’t a single tear there, which jarred Dean even more. Any other Sammy, the Sammy from before, and he’d be a crying snorting mess. The Sam back then had never given a shit how much emotion he showed when he was sad even if Dean’d called him a chick for it. The Sam now seemed to have forgotten how.

The next words that came out of Sam’s mouth jarred him to the very core.

“What’s torture really if not interaction. Contact. Think about it. Even if you carve into someone, you still gotta hold the knife to do it. Still gotta touch ‘em. And Lucifer was always so chatty, when he… you know.”

Dean swallowed. “Sammy, did you…?”

It all happened so suddenly, one minute they were finally talking about this, brother and brother. And the next Sam’s entire posture changed, his spine snapped upright as if hit and his eyes tried really hard not to look to his right. He started sweating.

They were all telltale signs that they weren’t alone anymore. That this conversation was no longer a two way street. Dean cringed and imagined punching the air there. Fucking Lucifer. Fucking with Sam’s head even when he wasn’t physically there to pull the trigger.

“Sam, eyes on me,” he growled, outright demanded.

“Dean, he’s _ here _, he’s-” Sam was blinking rapidly, like he was trying to see clearly again.

Truth be told, Dean didn’t know what to do with these hallucinations. Never had to deal with them before. Dealing with a mental illness was as foreign to him as a long lasting relationship (even after Lisa) or coping with things in a healthy way. But he knew his brother in and out. And because of that, he just tried to think of it like one of those nightmares Sammy’d gotten back when he was younger. Way younger. When he still came to his bedside after a bad nightmare, and didn’t just ignore it.

Softly, he touched his leg, just under his knee. It was the closest he could reach him from this position. “Sammy, I’m here.” Squeezed it gently. “Focus on me. Just ride it out.”

“Dean, I don’t know how,” Sam replied, eyes wild and pleading. He looked so much younger then, so much more like the rugrat Dean used to have to force feed cuz he wanted to study for school more than to take care of himself.

“Yes, you can.” His eyes automatically went to the scar on his palm.

Sam squeezed his hand so hard Dean was afraid he’d break it for a second. Seemed to do the trick though, because after a minute of him closing his eyes and squeezing seemed to exorcised the devil. Sam’s thumb had reopened the old stitches and now the scar was welling up with blood again. Dean tried really hard not to think about the fact that he’d basically just told his little brother to hurt himself. Whatever works, right?

Sam sighed and opened his eyes again. “Thanks.”

Dean shrugged. Didn’t wanna start again but he felt like he had no choice. “So after some time, you… what? Told him to come crawling back?” The more he learned about it the more it did remind him of one of those abusive housewives. He cringed.

“After _ years _ , Dean. Years. And I didn’t _ tell _ , I prayed.” Sam laughed. “I prayed to fucking satan. Shit. And he came back. Came back and asked me _ ‘are you ready to worship me now?’ _ and I…”

“Sam?”

“I did.” His voice was all shaky as if he was crying, but there were still no tears Dean could see. “Dean, I did. I… I was so _ grateful _. I…” Sam started to sound choked up.

It felt like a punch in the gut. Dean couldn’t breathe.

“Sam, it was Satan.” Duh. No shit sherlock. He didn’t know if it’d been meant to be offended or reassuring.

His brother buried his face in his hands, pulled on a couple of strands of hair falling from his forehead. “You think I don’t know that? Think that makes it _ easier _?”

_ ‘Think that makes me hate myself less?’ _ was what his eyes seemed to say when he looked at him, looked at his older brother like he had all the answers in the world.

_ God, not this Sammy, _ he wanted to say. _ Never this. I’m as clueless as you are. _

So that’s what that had been. Worship. A ritual. A love confession. Dean felt sick to his stomach. The alcohol had been completely burned out of his system and he was stone cold sober. He wished he wasn’t. “‘S not your fault, Sammy,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Sam looked at him like he’d lost his mind, instead of the other way around. “Isn’t it? You don’t know, you weren’t there.”

“Yeah because if I was, I woulda lost my shit _ way _before!” Of that he was sure.

Sam’s voice started growing louder and he stood up, suddenly furious. Dean made to stand up as well to block the exits again. He needed to get this through his thick head.

“You don’t get it!”

If his brother was angry then so was Dean. Instinct. “Yeah? Then freaking _ explain _it to me! You spend all this time talking about how no one understands, but you won’t fucking talk about it either!”

“Fuck you!” Sam shoved him, but the movement was barely enough for him to lose his footing. Like he didn’t even try. “Because I was _ happy _ , that’s why! I was freaking happy! Ecstatic to be his bi- adorer! His one man fucking audience! I knew what he was, I _ know _ , believe me, but I … I had a purpose. And even now, that’s the happiest I’ve _ ever _been. What does that say about me, huh?”

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Could just about imagine Sam’s turmoil right now - his conflicting feelings. This whole situation had more in common with those articles those shrinks had written than he ever could have imagined, and Dean - Well. He never before had wanted to kill something, anything, so badly. His fingers were itching for his demon knife. But his real target was ten thousand foot underground, probably laughing his ass off.

“Sammy. We’re gonna fix this.” Even to him it didn’t sound convincing.

“How?” Dean couldn’t answer, so Sam just shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this to you. I don’t know how-”

_ How to say that what I know to be true about Lucifer and what I feel are very different. I don’t know how to move on from this. _

“Dunno, Sammy, but we…” He was struggling for words here. His hand found its way back on Sam’s shoulder. He only flinched slightly and Dean considered that a win. “We’re gonna find a way. We always do. Just like we’re gonna handle those leviathan sons of bitches.”

Sam still looked unconvinced. His anger from before was all gone, all that was left now was depressing silence.

Dean looked at Sam, at his brother. At this stranger and yet the only person in the whole world who he knew inside and out. Saw the cracks there, more than ever before. Felt his own hell memories creep up on him like a shadow that just wouldn’t leave.

His brother who apparently loved the devil, in some way or another. Whose sole desire was being back in the Cage. Who couldn’t stand the separation so much his mind had to conjure up a life like image from nothing. Decided right then and there that he didn’t care. Dean wouldn’t leave his brother for anything, even this version of him.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he said, and meant it.

\--

When Sam was fast asleep or at least acted like it, Dean went back to those websites again. Because he would fix this.

He would. Just didn’t know how yet. But he would think of something. He had to.

Because Sam was his responsibility. This was his job.

* * *

> “
> 
> The man on top of you is teaching you how to hate, see you
> 
> as a piece of real estate,
> 
> just another fallow field lying underneath him
> 
> like a sacrifice.
> 
> He's turning your back into a table so he doesn't have to
> 
> eat off the floor, so he can get comfortable,
> 
> pressing against you until he fits, until he's made a place for himself 
> 
> inside you
> 
> [...]
> 
> So you get a kidney punch, a little blood in your urine.
> 
> It isn't over yet, it's just begun.
> 
> “
> 
> \- A Primer For The Small Weird Loves - Richard Siken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unstoppable force (me hating that dean in canon basically tels sam to self harm to deal with his psychosis) vs immovable object (me knowing that the way he's written in s7 makes it zero chance for him to tell sam anything else).  
that's it, folks.  
I wrote another fanfiction in the same sort of universe (aka my canon), here:  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140717


End file.
